


One More For Our Brothers

by ProfDrLachfinger



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 7, Gap Filler, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 08:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/pseuds/ProfDrLachfinger
Summary: The second raid on Paris failed. This time Rollo has betrayed Ragnar for good and let the advancing Vikings be slaughtered by Frankish soldiers. In this attack Floki nearly drowned weren't it for Ragnar. But Ragnar still carries Floki a grudge for killing Athelstan. Struck down by a serious fever, Floki is cared for by Ragnar and they both have to face each other and their deeds of the past.





	One More For Our Brothers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptBexx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptBexx/gifts).



> Finally I've been able to write a fanfiction for my bestest friend [CaptBexx](http://captbexx.tumblr.com) (tumblr) for whom I don't write enough! Sadly, we always like the same fandoms, but she's the Gen-Man and I am the Slash, so we naturally aren't inspired by the same things. But this was something I had to set right and those poly-happy-shippy-gen Vikings were the best way to do so!
> 
> I tried to write a canon compliant piece to show how Floki's and Ragnar's feelings have evolved towards the end and how they might have overcome Floki's killing of Athelstan. But after I was finished I found out, I had lied to myself xD We never actually had any proof that Ragnar slept with Athelstan! But I'm sure it HAPPENED ... ;3
> 
> This isn't beta-read and English is not my native language.

*

 _"One more for our brothers who fought beside us_  
One more and forward again  
Once more, we'll fight and conquer  
Until we'll meet again _"_

_TURISAS - One More_

*

He breached the surface of the water with a thundering noise. Unforgivable claws of cold pierced deep into his skin, seeped into his leathers and furs as if to make a home there. Their hold was relentless, dragging him downward to the bottom of the river.

Floki fought the pull of the water. He kicked and flailed against the drag. But his feet and hands met no resistance. They cut through the murky water, sending up waves of splashes, but never stopped his ineffable descent to his death.

 _No! I can't die now!_ Flokiʼs thoughts roared, screamed for the one purpose they pursued. Ragnar. Let him live one more day for Ragnar.

Around him the screams and moans of they dying and wounded rose to a deafening crescendo. The ships had been set on fire. Heaving himself up the hull of their capsized boat had been the only chance of escape. His ›friends‹ Harald and Halfdan where nowhere in sight. They had managed to swim to safety despite their heavy leather armor, which for Floki were now his certain death.

The river closed itʼs deathly surface over his head, as he sunk down. Unable to fight the urge to breath he swallowed foul water, chocked, inhaled more and sunk deeper.

Further and further down he went, the coldness becoming more oppressive. Its hard and unyielding form closed about Floki, set on keeping him here forever. He would die in a foreign land, where none of their Gods would watch and witness his death. A death in battle that all Vikings wished for. No, they wouldnʼt see him and he would roam the places between Valhalla and Earth in an eternal search for a life after death. Here in Frankia no valkyries would carry him up into the sky to Odinʼs hall. His body would lie at the bottom of the river, rotting away until it was only mud.

The sharp fingers of cold pushed deeper into his flesh, digging through his gut. And there they found a fire that had been burning inside him the whole trip.

A fever had begun to blossom in his body when they had left Kattegat. But that hadnʼt been important. Ragnarʼs dream had been important. His destiny to take Paris. One more time.

Thinking of Ragnar, a smile appeared on Flokiʼs lips and the last bubbles of air left his mouth. Ragnar might still hate Floki, but Floki wouldnʼt die hating the one person he held dearer than his own life. 

As the light began to fade from his eyes, a heavy jerk to his rump called his senses back. He was freed from the freezing clutch by determined pulls, that propelled him upward and higher into the light.

 _The Valkyries have found me after all!_ Flokiʼs mind cajoled.

But then his head burst through the waterʼs surface and he was hit by the stench of burning wood and flesh. He was back in the battle.

His stomach contracted and he vomited up the brackish water of the river that had wanted to kill him. Flailing about wildly he tried to stay afloat and only then realized that he was dragged along and further away from the fray. Twisting his head against the stiff collar of his leather jerkin he saw a bald head bobbing up and down out of the water, huffing with every stroke. Ragnar.

Through the heat that pulsed feverishly in his head, he could make out distant voices. But his body wouldnʼt let him sense any more. Waves of fire and ice crashed through him, scattering his wits.

Suddenly he was gripped by strong hands that clamped down on his ankles and arms like vices. Crashing against the railing, Floki felt the world spin and for one moment the grey smudge of a sky and the sickening green of the river switched places, spun around each other and his vision went black.

Gasping frantically, he opened his eyes. They were met with an icy blue stare as Rangar was heaved back on board and onto Floki with the abandon of people fleeing for their lives. For an instant their eyes locked and Ragnarʼs hand pressed down onto Flokiʼs chest. To feel for his heartbeat? To press the precious air out of his lungs again? Or just to steady his tumble around the boatʼs hull.

Whatever it was, Floki couldnʼt control the spasm that ran through his arm. It jerked upward to grab Ragnarʼs chest in return but then ended in a nondescript flail.

Their gaze broke like a thin sliver of frost as Ragnar pushed himself off of Floki to get back on his feet.

A thousand unspoken words, pleas and thanks blossomed on Flokiʼs lips but died the moment Ragnar turned his back. The cold Floki had hoped to leave behind in the river caught up with him and now resided in his heavy armor. Slowly, cruelly it began to engulf him. Once more, his vision turned to black.

***

Blackness engulfed him. It was impenetrable and weigthed down upon his eyes like the icy waters before. Floki battled the growing paralysis in his body. He couldnʼt feel his fingers, palms, arms and legs anymore. They were dragged down as if the whole of the river had seeped into his being, filling him up, obstructing his every movement.

A groan was forced out of his body as he was rocked by a heavy jolt. The lids of his eyes split open without his doing and a light brighter than fire pierced his eyes. He moaned again and went back under.

The next time he came to, his body shivered violently. Every muscle in his thin body convulsed and jerked as if the flesh wanted to crawl back from the bones. It was like being torn apart alive. His eyes shot wide at the pain and were instantly dazzled by a dull red glow that looked like the womb of a giant woman. Was this rebirth? Being trapped inside a womanʼs body with the flesh creeping away, only to slide back over his body to make him whole again? What were the Gods doing to him?

Out of nowhere something grabbed his wrists and pulled them about. Dread sprang from his chest like a dark raven. This wasnʼt rebirth, this was death! What horrors had been sent from Hel to tear his weakening body asunder?

Fighting the questing touches, his blurred vision slowly began to take in shapes and forms. Bending over him and obscuring the red glow, was a huge, dark specter.

»No,« Floki wailed but his voice was scarcely more than a croak.

»Keep still, fool,« a fine, but rugged voice chided him.

Again his body was jostled and jerked every which way. Accompanying the ripping motions was the squelching sound of blood and the high screech of tearing flesh.

Still battling the determined hands, Floki wondered about the pain. When would it come? The only thing he felt was heat and cold. Then heat again. He was bathed in fire and then tossed into a glacier only to fall through it and back into flames, licking at him with hungry tongues.

Clenching his teeth down hard, Floki tried to focus. Over him, the dark shade began to take on familiar features. A beard. A bald head adorned with ritual patterns. Strong, blue eyes.

The fog of his brain cleared.

He saw Ragnar fight with the wet and tightened leather strings that kept Flokiʼs jerkin firmly wrapped around his body. Impatience drove the other manʼs every move and at some point he just tore the strings apart, letting the leather nick his fingertips.

Wide-eyed Floki watched the scene before him as if he was far away. It was like the trance he achieved when he chanted for the Gods, praying for their wisdom.

The cold, clenching feeling was suddenly taken away from him as Ragnar managed to get the piece of armor from Flokiʼs chest. The soggy linen shirt was abrasively pulled over Flokiʼs head and followed suit.

»Your hands are cold,« Floki muttered muzzily, as Ragnar began pulling at his trousers.

»I _am_ cold. I canʼt warm them up,« Ragnar replied absentmindedly.

Again, focus and perception began to evaporate around Floki as the fog of his fever-addled brain rose up again.

Only distantly did he feel the cold, the very cold fingers of Ragnar Lothbrok brushing over his skin. Finding bruises, finding scars but unable to find Flokiʼs conscious, as it drifted off into the blackness once again.

»One more,« Floki breathed.

***

In his dark, winding dreams, Floki found himself strung up in the cave again. He was freezing, miserable and every inch of his body hurt.

Ragnar had punished him for killing that priest he so adored. That priest who told Ragnar about all the different countries he had seen. How many more unconquered lands there were, which they could roam. Ragnarʼs mind had been filled with pretty words about what knowledge and wonder could be gained, if they only traveled further than England. The curiosity and the lust for taking the world apart to understand its workings had always been the core of Ragnarʼs being. But it would also be the core of his undoing.

Slowly, Ragnar had lost touch with his homestead, with their Gods and left Floki behind.

Poor old Floki who had done everything in his might to aid Ragnar in his endeavors. But he hadnʼt been able to keep Ragnar close to their ways or to him. At some point Floki had only been the shipwright, for Athelstan had become the adviser that filled his ears with desire.

But Floki would do everything for Ragnar. He was like his own flesh and blood and when he got lost, Floki would guide him back.

Killing that priest had been a sacred thing. The will of the Gods, their desire, had flowed through him as he walked the village like a shadow, like a wolf, like a raven. No one saw. No one heard. When it was done joy had made Floki whoop and twist. But Ragnar had been angry …

Ragnarʼs anger had driven them apart. Now Floki wasnʼt even his shipwright anymore. He was just Floki. Poor old Floki, no one cared about.

The dark dreams wound tighter around him and drove him on and on. Tossing and turning, Floki jerked awake. Around him the red blur became a tent, only illuminated by a small fire in the middle of the earthen floor.

His chest rose with quick breaths and he was drenched in sweat. Pushing feebly at the heavy furs that had been piled on top of him, he only managed to free his white arms and a little bit of his unclothed chest.

Fighting for his consciousness, Floki wanted to sit up, but nausea crushed over his head.

»Donʼt get up, you fool,« a voice shot through the dark.

Unheeding, Floki stemmed trembling arms against the cot.

»Listen to me! Donʼt get up,« Ragnar snapped and pushed Floki down into the furs.

»Iʼm too hot,« Floki protested but realized that it only took Ragnarʼs hand to keep him pinned down. Submitting, a tired breath escaped his lips. His whole body was sore and the fever burned him up.

»Better than frozen to death,« was the gruff reply.

Ragnarʼs face was drawn and his eyes hard.

With a grunt Floki tried to roll away from Ragnarʼs touch. It felt like all of the other manʼs disappointment and contempt lingered in that touch. The pressure slightly too much, his posture a hunch too aggressive.

Huffing, Ragnar stood up and resumed his former place behind the fire, facing the tents entrance with his back.

Fidgeting, Floki let the furs wander through his trembling fingers.

»You saved me,« he husked.

Ragnar snorted and rocked back and forth on his haunches, his hands clasped firmly in front of his knees.

Cringing, a whimper like a wounded wolf escaped Flokiʼs lips. Anger rolled off of Ragnar like cold smoke. The grudge against Floki still glimmering coals. But Rolloʼs deceit today had started a whole new fire, burning coldly inside the other manʼs belly.

»Thank you,« Floki said unevenly into the furs.

Behind the fire Ragnar tsked. »Youʼre the only shipwright.«

The answer plunged into Flokiʼs heart like a spear. A shipwright. At least he had gained that part back in Ragnarʼs recognition.

»How many left?« Floki wanted to know.

»A third of the ships are intact. The rest is gone.«

»A third!« Floki sputtered and sat up, the furs falling about him in a mad heap. His whole body might have burned with the fever inside but now passion for his ships urged him on.

»Get. Back,« Ragnar hissed.

Floki didnʼt hear him. The throbbing of blood pumping wildly through his veins was too loud. He had to get out, see the ships. His ships! The ships he had built for Ragnar!

The scattered furs revealed Flokiʼs drawn body. Just below his breast was a huge purple bruise, winding around his rips like a snake. It was only then that Floki realized that his breathing was obstructed by a stinging pain, shooting through his lungs. His ribs had been cracked as they had hauled him into the boat.

Moaning he tried to resist the pain and the dizziness. His breaths were only the frantic gasps of a fish stranded on land.

»You old fool,« Ragnar barked and stormed across the tent.

With ease he swept the quivering form of Floki into his embrace. His arms wound around the frail waist and pressed firmly against the small of the back. Leaning back slightly, he pushed Flokiʼs torso into a straighter position, easing the strain on the lungs.

Frantically Flokiʼs fingers scratched and clawed at Ragnarʼs jerkin until he realized that his breath came easier now.

With a wildly hammering heart Floki let the tension wash out of his body and he sunk against Ragnarʼs chest. How many moons had passed, since they had been this close. That Ragnar had held him willingly and with joyous emotions because of what Floki had done for him.

»I …« Floki mumbled, his fingers twitching, his wrists jerking.

»You ought to listen,« Ragnar chided, cutting through Flokiʼs response.

»I ought to listen?« Floki spat as his ire rose. He pushed feebly against the embrace. »Youʼre not always right!«

»Floki, calm– Floki!«

Floki had managed to free himself from the grip despite the screaming pain in his ribcage, contracting around his lungs. Bracing himself against the frame of the cot he shot Ragnar a wild look.

»You donʼt know anything, Ragnar Lothbrok,« he hissed. »You are blind and a fool!«

Ragnar bared his teeth and growled. »Shut up and lie back down.«

Grinning madly, Floki hooted, »Oh no, this Floki here has been quiet for long enough! You are stupid not to listen to the friends who want to show you the way, when youʼve strayed off of the path!«

»A good thing I donʼt listen to you. Youʼre crazy,« Ragnar shot and grabbed for Flokiʼs wrists

»Iʼm not! Iʼm a very sane person!« Floki shouted and whirled his hands about, evading Ragnarʼs grasp. »You let yourself be lured in by that priest! You left the Gods behind!«

Anger clearly sparking in his eyes, Ragnar shot up from the cot. »Donʼt you dare talk about Athelstan like this! If I left anyone behind, it was you! Poor old Floki. Because youʼre not my friend.«

Aghast Floki sat back. His rips hurt with the motion and his head swam with fever. But then his body turned cold and he began to shake. Sweat beaded over his body.

»But … I did everything for you, Ragnar,« Floki whispered.

»You _took_ everything from me,« Ragnar said and stormed out of the tent.

Drained of all his energy and robbed of the last bit of hope he had cradled close to his heart, Floki let the darkness take him again.

***

Water trickled down his face and into his mouth and eyes. He was drowning again! With a stifled shout Floki shot out of the cot but was at once grabbed by his shoulders and pushed back.

»Floki, itʼs only me,« a young voiced told him.

In the murky morning light that filtered through the tent entrance, he was able to make out a man. It was Ragnar! No … he looked younger, the graveness not so prominent, the chin not so defiantly set.

»Bjorn,« Floki breathed but his chest caught and he had to cough.

»Yes,« Bjorn said and pulled the wet cloth over Flokiʼs face again.

Shutting his eyes, Floki let the cold sensation flow over him. The fever had fired up and his bare limbs were clammy underneath the blankets and furs. The coolness of the water was a welcome relief.

Calmed by Bjornʼs presence, the man he loved like a nephew, Flokiʼs mind drifted off in thought. He remembered the failed attempt to pass the twin towers guarding the river and barring their way to Paris. They had left the camp with a hundred ships or more and now only a third was left. They had left the camp … The camp!

»Helga!« Floki shouted hoarsely and sat up again.

Stunned, Bjorn watched Floki rear out of the furs but his movements were instantly stopped as his face turned white and he blanched.

»Ugh–« Floki choked.

In a bat of an eye Bjorn had slung his arm around Floki and pressed him close. Supported like that, he lightened the weight that was put on the maltreated ribs. Shaking and gasping, Floki lay in his arms, still wildly twisting about his hands.

»Whereʼs Helga?!« Floki wailed and worked against Bjornʼs hold.

»Floki!« Bjorn intoned and pressed his forehead against Flokiʼs. »Calm down.«

Breathing raggedly, Floki moaned and let his eyes roll back in exhaustion.

Cradling Floki closer still, Bjorn started on a careful rocking motion he had seen Floki do when he went into trance. He rubbed the palm of his hand over the trembling shoulders to get the muscles to relax.

»Listen Floki,« Bjorn began in a soft voice. »The camp was attacked while we were fighting on the river. Helga has been wounded and–«

»I have to see her!« Floki broke the contact but was pulled back again.

»She has been cared for,« Bjorn soothed.

Floki was frantic. How could he have forgotten about Helga? Floki cherished her. She was the only person who loved him unconditionally. No matter what he did, Helga supported him. Even now she had joined him for the raid on Paris. For her unwavering support she had paid a high price.

His whole being yearned to be with her. To sit at her bedside and care for her wounds. But his body wouldnʼt let him. The pain in his ribs had worsened and his head swum with dizziness. He leaned into Bjornʼs embrace and cried, weak as a newborn child. It seemed that he couldnʼt do right by the ones he loved. Not by Helga. Not by Ragnar.

»Floki,« Bjorn breathed and rocked him gently. »Donʼt fret. Youʼll see her as soon as you are healed. Sheʼs … sheʼs unconscious but well cared for.«

»Whoʼs looking after her?« Floki mumbled and fought the heat that forced his eyes shut. The swaying motion calmed the agitated beating of his heart.

»Ragnar found her. He sits with her every night,« Bjorn explained and drew some furs around Flokiʼs naked form. Then he fished for the wet cloth again. Flokiʼs forehead had burned with an intensity that frightened him.

»Ragnar?« Floki echoed in disbelief.

»Yes. Sheʼs in his tent. He doesnʼt really use it anyway. Heʼs always with that Chinese girl,« contempt seeped into Bjornʼs voice at the mention of the slave girl, who had tended to Ragnarʼs sever wounds after the first raid on Paris.

»But … why?« Floki murmured.

»Why not? Youʼre his friends.«

Flokiʼs gut twisted at Bjornʼs words and he gagged but it was of no avail.

»Easy,« Bjorn said, and held Flokiʼs head with his hand.

»ʼm not his friend … anymore,« Floki groaned as his gut churned on. There was a silence from Bjornʼs side and Floki lapsed back into painful remembering of how enraged Ragnar had been at his ʼbetrayalʼ. »He feels I betrayed him.«

»Yes he does, he loved that priest. But you are still his friend,« Bjorn replied and rubbed his thumb over Flokiʼs cheek, clearing away some of the already smudged black paint covering the eyelids.

»But why? Why did he love that priest so much,« Floki groaned and wound in the embrace.

»He loved … Athelstan for his wisdom, his knowledge. For the power those things held. And, I think he loved him because in his heart he felt they were very much alike. I donʼt know if that was the reason he lay with him, but he had found something in him,« Bjorn mused and eyed Floki with concern. Floki was in a bad shape. His body was wrecked by fever, his mind was wrecked by guilt and Ragnarʼs rejection.

»But I too gave him all he wanted,« Floki protested. »For every boat he wanted, I gave him one more. For each problem he had, I built him one more solution … I gave … I gave him all he asked for.«

»And he loved you for it.«

»No, he loved that priest,« Floki spat and battled the onslaught of thoughts in his head, fueled by his sickness.

Bjorn remained silent and eyed the man in his arms who was like an uncle to him. He had known Floki since his father Ragnar had taken him to his first Thing. There had always been admiration in Flokiʼs eyes when he laid them upon Ragnar. As there was in Ragnarʼs eyes when he watched Floki.

»Would you have Ragnar love you like the priest?« Bjorn asked.

Floki went silent. Ragnar had desired the prudent priest quit openly and it had taken him some time to coax him into bed together with Lagertha.

Then a sadness overcame Floki as he thought back to Torstein. He had loved Torstein, more than a brother. The countless times Helga, Torstein and Floki had lain together were a warm feeling in his gut, tinged with sadness. Torstein had been taken from them. But he had died a warriors death facing the enemy.

Floki tried to envision himself in Ragnarʼs bed. With Ragnar. No. The feelings he had had for Torstein were different from the ones he held for Ragnar. He believed in Ragnar and his visions.

»No,« Floki breathed and looked up into Bjornʼs questioning eyes. »Ragnar is like my brother. But I betrayed him.«

»Rollo is his brother, too and he betrayed him, too. But,« Bjorn brought his forehead down to meet Flokiʼs. Heat was gushing from him in sickening waves. The water had only managed to cool him down a little. »Rollo has betrayed Ragnar for pride, gold, power. He betrayed him out of envy. Why did you?«

Floki fiddled his fingers as thoughts and feelings tumbled through his head. »Out …« he mumbled muzzily. »Out of love. To keep him safe from the priest. To make him … look back at me.« 

Bjorn considered this and a smile crossed his face. He nudged Floki with his forehead, getting a sigh from the other man in return. »Ragnar will come to that understanding sooner or later. Now you need to eat.«

»Iʼm not hungry,« Floki replied and pushed himself out of Bjornʼs hold, groaning at the returning pain in his ribs and flopped back onto the cot. As soon as he had lain down, the fever washed up again and exhaustion pulled him under.

Bjorn sat on the cot and watched the tall man sleep. His face beneath the remaining paint was drawn, his hair tousled. Pulling the furs securely around Flokiʼs bare shoulders, Bjorn tucked him in. For some time he kept on wiping Flokiʼs face with the cloth until his expression eased from troubled to relaxed. Silently, Bjorn left the tent.

***

The next time Floki surfaced from his heavy, suffocating dreams, it was to the smell of … broth and gruel. His stomach gave an agitated rumble for it was hungry but at the same time rejected every idea of food.

Floki willed his eyes open against the heat that still made him weak and dizzy. The tent had fallen into darkness, but a small fire had been lit to keep it warm and illuminated.

Rolling awkwardly onto his back, Floki managed to tangle himself in the blankets and gave a groan as they strained his rips.

»Canʼt even lie down properly,« a voice from the foot of his cot chided, but without much rancor.

Ragnar got up and bent over Floki who looked back at him dumbfounded. Without any trace of emotion on his face, Ragnar pressed his hand to Flokiʼs forehead. The hand lingered on for some time, then carefully swiped away to the side over Flokiʼs cheek and left again.

»Itʼs breaking.«

Under the covers Floki felt his hands jerk and his lips held back an endless stream of words and utterings that surely would have made things worse. After his talking to Bjorn, much of it lost in the haze of his fever-addled mind, the need to justify his actions to Ragnar had arisen.

But Ragnarʼs being here in the tent was a fragile extend of trust and reconciliation Floki didnʼt desire to trample.

Going on undisturbed, Ragnar tugged and prodded at the bedding, until the offending fabric and furs had been arranged more loosely around Floki.

»You need to eat,« Ragnar stated flatly.

»I donʼt want to,« Floki replied, shocked that his voice nearly didnʼt carry over the crackling of the fire.

»That is your problem,« Ragnar looked at him. »Need help to get up?«

Floki pursed his lips, unsure if Ragnar was condescending or just aloof

»I can do that myself,« Floki muttered, fully aware that there wouldnʼt be any discussion on him not eating. With feeble arms he stemmed his upper body into an upright position but as soon as he took a breath, pain flared through his ribcage and he gagged violently.

»I can see that,« Ragnar rumbled and grabbed Flokiʼs upper arm.

He hoisted Floki up, but the moment the furs slid from the other manʼs frail stature, Ragnar paused. The damage done by hauling him over the shipʼs rail was still painfully obvious.

Catching his breath and battling through his dizziness, Floki shot Ragnar a defiant glare.

But Ragnar didnʼt notice it. Instead his free hand reached forward and carefully mapped the expanse of the bruise with his fingertip. The leather jerkin had prevented the complete breaking of the ribs, but hadnʼt softened the force with which Floki had been slammed against the wood. Floki inhaled sharply. Not because of the pain but because of the touch. Ragnarʼs finger were cold but gentle.

»You canʼt travel like this,« Ragnar mused.

Shivering under the touch, Floki shook his head. »I will.«

Ragnarʼs response was only a grunt bevor he said, »Wait.«

Then he got up from the cot and retrieved a steaming mug that had set next to the fire in the heat.

It was exhausting for Floki to remain in this half sitting position, leaning slightly to the side while his arms trembled with the weight of his body. But the instead of taking his seat alongside Floki, Ragnar sat behind him, straddling the cot.

»Lean back,« he commanded with his gravely voice.

Petrified at the proximity Flokiʼs heart sped up and his fingers seemed to spring to life out of their own accord, but he obeyed and leaned back against Ragnarʼs leather clothed chest.

»No, that wonʼt do,« Ragnar muttered and grabbed one of the smaller furs. »Lean forward.« Then he pushed the fur between his chest and Flokiʼs back and drew the other man close again.

Swaddled like this, Floki wasnʼt sure what would happen now, when suddenly a bowl was held in front of him.

»Drink.«

Cupping the earthenware mug, Floki brought it unsteadily to his lips. The broth was warm, salty and a punch in the gut. The first swallow crushed through his gullet and into his stomach with such force that it contracted.

»Ungh,« Floki groaned and nearly dropped the bowl. But Ragnar had reached around and steadied his hold.

»Slower,« Ragnar breathed.

Ignoring his rumbling stomach and with Ragnarʼs help, Floki took a second swallow and then another. After forth Floki felt as if he would burst.

»No more.«

Ragnar set the bowl on the ground but didnʼt change his position. Submitting to his current situation, Floki leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He felt his strength drained by his stomach that fought with its newly acquired content.

For a time the tent was silent despite the cracking of the fire. From outside the noises of a bedraggled camp washed in. Here and there was a moan or a whisp of conversation, metal only rang seldom, since there were other things on the menʼs and womenʼs minds as sparing or mending their weaponry.

»How is Helga?« Floki asked softly.

»Better,« Ragnar replied.

»It is good that youʼre caring for her. I trust you,« Floki murmured hazily.

»But you didnʼt trust me to love you, when Athelstan was there,« Ragnar breathed, his posture motionless.

»I … yes,« Floki admitted and pressed his cheek against Ragnarʼs collar in search for support as another heatwave washed over him. »You were like a brother to me but that priest took you away. No matter how much I gave you, you wouldnʼt listen. All I did, I did for you.«

Behind him, Floki could hear Ragnar grunt and gnash his teeth, he was getting angry. But then he released a forced sigh. »I never left you, Floki. I just looked the other way.«

Breathing in the heavy smell of leather, grime and sweat, Floki admitted softly, »I thought … when I heard Helga was wounded, that you wouldnʼt let her be cared for. That you hated me so much to take her from me.«

Suddenly, a hand was laid on Flokiʼs head and brushed through his tousled hair and down his neck. »I would not do unto you what you did unto me, Floki. Youʼre my brother.«

Tears welled up in Flokiʼs eyes and he rubbed through his face with feeble hands. Sobs shook his body and sent waves of crippling pain crushing through his cracked ribs. Ragnar had never abandoned him. He had been angry with him, but he had never tossed Floki aside for it.

A agitated howl escaped Flokiʼs lips. He was a monster, a beast to have treated his brother like that. But all he had done had been in good faith! Everything he did he–

»Floki.«

Tenderly his hands were pried from his face and Ragnar leaned around to look at him. His eyes were a burning blue, like a godly fire mere humans couldnʼt comprehend. The wisdom and the will to shape his own fate radiated from them. Ragnar saw what others couldnʼt. He had already seen the patterns of fate rolled out before him. He was still and always had been the Ragnar Floki believed in.

»The harm is done. Let us not dwell upon it.«

Floki just stared at Ragnar. Every word had drowned in his tears, they wouldnʼt come anymore.

Ragnar grabbed Flokiʼs face firmly with one hand and shook it gently. »Only because I turned away from you, doesnʼt mean I donʼt need you anymore, Floki. I love you. Youʼre my true brother and without you I wouldnʼt have come this far.«

Ignoring the pain in his ribs, Floki flung one arm around Ragnarʼs neck. His body began to tremble with sobs and laughter that bubbled up in him. Ragnarʼs laugh was soft but he returned the embrace and rubbed his hand over Flokiʼs head with vigor.

»Floki, Floki, the old fool,« Ragnar chortled huskily.

***

Floki stood upon the deck of one of the remaining boats. The sky of Frankia was still an impenetrable grey smudge and the river moved along slowly in its sombre brackish color.

Helga was well cared for and his maltreated ribs only stung mildly. Yesterday he had instructed Ragnar on fashioning a softer, smaller leather jerkin, lined with cloth on the inside, to strap around Flokiʼs chest. This way his ribs were firmly held in place and the muscles could work without straining them too much. Ragnar had told him of his plan, whispered softly as he had bound Flokiʼs chest.

Today Ragnar would need Floki to once again help him shape his fate and that of the people who followed him. And Floki would do it for him. He would make Ragnarʼs vision come true. One more time.

Upon Ragnarʼs orders they had pulled the boats up in front of a cliff with only a thin, stony beach lining the shore. All men and women had gathered on the decks and were murmuring about what would happen now. They were disappointed at how their supposed raid on Paris had come out. Some even questioned Ragnarʼs ability to lead them to fortune.

And then, Ragnar told them about his plan, his vision. They would take the ships up the cliff, haul them over land, past the towers and lower them into the river again. Just because they had left Paris behind in their heads, didnʼt mean that Ragnar had.

The muttering and disagreement got louder, mocking Ragnarʼs proposition.

Halfdan voiced his concern with disdain quite openly. »Carry them, up there?«

»Yes. Up there,« Ragnar replied calmly and eyed the cliffs with a distant gaze. »You can do that, canʼt you, Floki? Or am I wrong?« His voice carried the fine note of the smile that played upon his lips, as he set his eyes on Floki.

»No, I can do it, Ragnar. I can do it for you,« Floki replied. »Everything I do, Ragnar, is for you.«

  **~ FIN ~**


End file.
